


Salaì

by StRougarou



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Renaissance, M/M, Notorious Renaissance Painters in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 06:12:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13024941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StRougarou/pseuds/StRougarou
Summary: Da Vinci has finally trained his dirty little devil to hold a pose without squirming, but Leonardo would get much more work done if he'd trained him to keep his mouth shut as well.Very short and a bit naughty. The smirk in question can be found in the Louvre, da Vinci's "St. John the Baptist".





	Salaì

**Salaì**

The master's fingers go tight on the narrow brush he's holding. "Merciful Virgin, Gian. _Stop_ that." 

"Stop what?" The almost-perfect face barely moves; the little devil's been well-trained, although it's taken da Vinci close to ten years to teach him to keep properly still. He can hold a single pose for well over an hour now, which is unusually good, and seems to have learned to speak with his mouth closed, which is not so good because he will talk, and his conversation is extremely distracting. _Did you see that man at Melchiore's last night? With the little black beard and the ruby earrings? Leo, my dear master, how could you NOT notice? Everyone else did. We had a little conversation out in the courtyard – the fountain was playing, so beautiful in the moonlight - and he put his hand on my – well, let's say my shoulder, and I swear to all the saints I got hard so fast my head spun… _most of the time, da Vinci tries to ignore it.__

__At least when he's posing, you know where he is and what he's up to - because it is a sad fact that Gian da Oreno isn't called _Il Salaìno_ for nothing. You can't leave him alone with your purse, your dinner, your boyfriend, or anything with sharp edges or a resale value. _ _

Ettore, da Vinci's best workman, loathes the boy – _He'd suck off a priest in the confessional, Maestro, and he stole my Sunday shirt_ … The housekeeper refuses to clean his room ever since she found _things_ she was unwilling to describe under his bed. He's always been like that, and neither beatings nor threats nor gentle reason have ever been able to amend him. It's common gossip that the maestro’s lost track of the fines, hush-money, and compensation he's paid out for Salaì's little tricks and vices over the years, though most people know better than to speculate about the possible reasons – _and he's nothing but the son of one of the da Vinci tenants, out in the country, after all!_ \- at least not where they can be heard doing it. Da Vinci doesn't listen, anyway; he doesn't care about the money, or the reason, or the hours of penance he's done because he doesn't care. 

"Stop… _smirking._ You're meant to be John the Baptist, not a quayside whore eyeing up the sailors for what they've got in their pants and their pockets." Leonardo adds a touch of burnt sienna to the cream color on his palette to warm it up. He's not _quite_ captured the way Salaì's skin seems to give off an almost visible heat, like white bronze in the sun. Or the dirty sheen of his hair, oil and smoked gold. 

A soft sound comes from the mouth meant to be singing praises before the throne of God. " _Mmmm._ Say _whore_ again, master." 

This time, the brush falls to the floor. _Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus…_


End file.
